


pressing the issue

by Latter_alice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cas is stressed, Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 15, and Dean is better at emotions since its s15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latter_alice/pseuds/Latter_alice
Summary: "So," Dean shifts closer, "what's the big one?"It's obvious, and he isn't stupid. There's only one reason to ask this now. To press the issue.His answer is short, to the point. "You."The night before they leave to fight Chuck, Cas and Dean keep each other company
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 171





	pressing the issue

It's quiet in the bunker, the night before it's all going to end.

Jack's waiting with Billy, and Sam decided to try and get some sleep sometime after dinner. Dean's been in pajamas just as long, but hasn't fallen asleep by the time Cas slips into his room.

Cas has a bottle of whiskey in hand, fifty-five years old and smoother than anything. It only takes ten minutes for Dean to get him to _take his damn shoes off for once,_ and another thirty seconds to discard both his jackets and tie.

Then he pats the foot of the mattress, and they take turns doing pulls straight from the bottle while they talk.

Dean's propped against his headboard, mostly empty bottle of booze in hand, when it happens.

Dean wets his lips, and his eyes dart from the bottle to Cas and repeats. They settle on the whiskey when he speaks. "So. Got any regrets? Y'know. If we all die."

Cas lifts an eyebrow. "This isn’t the first time we've been at the end of the barrel, so to speak."

Dean's lips quirk up for a moment, somehow still happy at idioms and pop culture references when they come from Cas. It falls as fast as it's there.

Dean clears his throat, sits up straighter. "Yeah, but not like this man."

"That's true." He plucks the bottle up, takes one last swig.

The liquid burns. It _shouldn't,_ like the room shouldn't feel cool, and his shoulder shouldn't ache. But the slow slip of his powers is one more thing going wrong. You have to draw the line in the sand somewhere. So he's already decided he doesn't care, as long as there's something for tomorrow.

"Never thought fratricide would be on my list of sins," he says as he caps the top, passes it back.

Dean's eyes search him, a sharp clarity cuts through any buzz, and he takes the time to examine. "Yeah, but you lived a long time. Doubt that takes the cake."

He scrunches his nose. For an angel, killing God should top the list.

"It doesn't."

"So," he shifts closer, "what's the big one?"

It's obvious, and he isn't stupid. There's only one reason to ask this now. To press the issue.

His answer is short, to the point. "You."

Dean flinches, his head jerks away. Cas lifts his hand to grab his shoulder, but stalls. Leaves it stuck in the air between them from a moment.

"Dean, look at me."

He doesn't. 

Carefully, Cas moves his fingers to Dean's cheek, directs Dean's gaze towards him with a barely-there press.

"You haven’t misread anything. I merely wish... circumstances were different."

Cas drops his hand, let's them both lay in his lap. 

When Dean speaks. His voice is quiet. "Different how?"

He gives a humorless laugh. "I wish we didn’t meet in Hell, for starters."

Slowly, Cas looks back up. Dean sits the bottle of alcohol on the floor with a clank. Smooths his tshirt out. 

When he talks, he tries to smile. It doesn't touch his face. "What, think we would've met in _Heaven_ after I kicked the bucket?"

And then Cas laughs once, more genuine, but still too close to bitter. "Not at all. But I think you know that's not what I meant."

It's meant to be an offer, one last chance to back out.

Dean's tongue darts out, west his mouth. "Then tell me."

It figures this would happen just in time for Cas to not be able to give it. Not fully. He twists the cuffs of his shirt between his fingers as he talks.

"I wish we met..." he sighs. "Somewhere normal. A place where you weren't forced to hunt, and I wasn't like this," he gives a vague motion to his body. The one he wasn't born in, the one he only has because Heaven and Hell wanted to ruin everything. 

Dean looks him in the eye, listening. The bed makes no noise when Cas leans a little closer, propped on the ball of his hand next to Dean's knee.

"And then I'd wish we'd talk long enough to want to again. Have this… courtship process in the right order, without all the mistakes and lost time."

"Yeah?" Dean's voice is weak.

He nods. "I regret that we can't be normal, and have a proper first date. It isn't your usual method, but you care about what's expected when you think something is important. We'd have that, in another time."

And it's what he deserves. An average life in all it's forged beauty. Not a string of disasters.

It's almost funny, to imagine. Maybe in a far off reality, they'd get married, and Jack would be a normal kid they adopted. And Sam would've made an excellent lawyer.

Dean’s hand slips forward, gripes his wrist. The hold is loose but firm, and everywhere his skin touches burns. He's shifted enough so they're inches apart, breathing the same air.

"Y'know I— I would. I'd do it proper now, Cas. Still can, just one more fight. We can have it, if you want."

The words sting. He doesn't know.

"I just want everyone safe. But—"

Cas glances at their hands, maneuvers them just enough to tangle their fingers.

"But, to clarify, you take the cake. Not having you. I wish I spent the last handful of years living here, at the least."

"You say that like it's too late."

Because it is. It is _too late,_ and the vocalization of it chokes his throat closed. He flicks his eyes to the wall, tries not to see Dean in his peripheral either. 

There's a warrant above his head, just waiting for the right moment, and Dean _doesn't know._ He'll be confused, lost. More lost than Cas ever thought when he made the deal, and he's left their son the job of explaining it. Because it won't be eons. Every day is numbered.

He doesn't realize his hands are shaking until Dean grabs them.

"Cas?"

It takes a moment to work past the knot in his throat. "It feels that way."

"Hey," Dean lifts a hand and cups his face, firm. "It isn’t too late. Look at me Cas."

He doesn't, but he also doesn't fight it when Dean guides his gaze back. 

There’s a pleading quality to his face. Intense, sharp. The one he gets when he thinks he can convince someone of anything as long as it's _right._

It's the kind of look that can convince an angel to fall, in his experience.

So he looks at Dean's mouth instead, watches the way his lips wrap around the words when he speaks.

"It isn't, Cas." 

Then Dean kisses him. Tentative, soft. Like Cas might break.

Every muscle Cas has freezes. It shouldn't be a surprise, but once you've thought about something enough times, the reality is always shocking.

And Cas can't move.

Dean's lips are plump, and the two of them slot perfectly together. But this isn't something they can do, not _now,_ not with the Empty, not when they’ll need him in the fight tomorrow—

And then Dean tilts his head _just so,_ and any thoughts of tomorrow, any reservation he should have, leaves.

That one movement is the freshest breath of air he's had in months. Longer, even.

Dean's hand moves to his waist, and he surges forward, haphazard and messy. Dean takes it with a grunt and a fleeting smile Cas can only feel.

It's Heavenly.

Their teeth clank, and the taste of whiskey in their saliva is the sweetest thing on the planet. The smell of Dean's cinnamon-scented shampoo is like a familiar blanket, and he's drowning in all of it. 

Kissing Dean isn't like anyone else. It's like slipping headfirst into an endlessly deep bath. He'd only had one once, but it was soothing and warm, a nice simulation of the best embrace he could think of at the time. And this is so much better.

He barely notices it when Dean's hand guides him back into place, then slides it around his neck.

Decidedly, Cas flicks his tongue over Dean's lips. A soft, nearly broken noise catches itself in the back of Dean's throat. Cas pushed in further, weasels a hand to Dean's chest, makes him lay down properly. He climbs on Dean's lap without breaking them apart.

He buries his nose into Dean's cheek, presses their faces together. When Cas drags his teeth over Dean's bottom lip, he moans.

He shivers when Dean tugs his shirt up, the cool air a shock to his heated skin. Dean's hand travels under, paints up his back in a smooth, slow drag. Cas breaks the kiss just so he can _breathe._

Their foreheads meld together, and their breaths run ragged. His heart thumps in his eardrums with each inhale. His skin is probably as red as Dean's, flushed deep, mouth puffed red and kiss stained.

After a moment, Cas falls limp, nested into Dean's side. 

Dean accommodates him effortlessly. His hand is still a comforting weight on Cas' back, even if the rumbled dress shirt digs into his skin.

When the subtle shake of his hands doesn't fade in the less intense position, he buries it in Dean's shirt.

As subtle as possible, he breathes deep. Once. Twice. Three times.

How he's still alive is a mystery.

Maybe the Empty would think it'd be funnier if it waited until after the battle, or at least in it's best interest. Maybe it's okay, for the night.

His eyes drift up, and Dean's smiling at him, a soft, private thing.

"See?" He says, "Not too late."

Cas twists himself up, brushes their lips. It has an addictive quality to it, the act. Especially when Dean leans in, and slides his fingers through Cas' hair.

And he’s still alive.

When they part, Dean schools his face into neutrality, his body tenses. He runs his hand through his hair once more, trailing down until he holds Cas' face firm.

He opens his mouth. Screws it shut. Opens it again.

"I'm in love with you."

His heart misses a beat, but the rest of him relaxes a fraction more. Tense in a way he wasn’t aware.

There’s a vehemence in the words, a truth that's a half step away from an accusation. He's had to have thought about it, combed the words over on his head until it was second nature.

Cas has known long enough it shouldn't be a surprise, but it still sends a little shock of thrill through him.

Cas takes in a shaky breath. Blinks a few times. 

Dean's sea-glass green eyes are beautiful.

And he's surviving this conversation.

"I know."

Dean’s eyebrows pop before he grins, full-faced and toothy. "Are you seriously referencing Star Wars at me?"

Cas' lips curl up. "It’s possible."

Dean doesn’t say anything, just leans in, kisses the side of Cas’ hair, right above his ear.

Cas runs his fingers along Dean's torso. After a few strokes, Dean catches his hand. Slots their fingers together.

Cas speaks, "I—"

He closes his eyes as goosebumps creep along his back.

_You are alive,_ he reminds himself. He's survived the rest of this without being whisked away. He licks his lips and starts again.

"I've loved you so fully in the time we've known each other, that whatever I was before may as well not exist."

And it's the truth. An existence of obedience, where any insolence was erased, wasn't much of an existence at all. 

And yes, he loves Sam. And Jack is his son, their son, and he'd die for him. Die for any of them.

But in all his time, nothing has ever been like Dean.

Dean's laugh breezes through his hair. "Geez Cas, tell me how you really feel."

"Tired." He shakes his head, deflates a bit. "Or terrified. Hard to tell."

And then Dean pulls him in, hugs him for all his worth.

"Me too, but we're going to win this. And we're all gonna get out. You're going to, cause I—" his voice breaks off. He takes a deep breath, crushes Cas against him, slotted hard under his chin. "I won’t lose you again. I can't. So just trust me on that, okay?"

When Dean puts it like that, it sounds so simple. Of course they'll be fine. Everyone lives. Things work out, and they'll be tangled together on the couch watching Netflix next week. Of course.

It's simple, the image of contentedness. Dangerous. Clinging onto now is stupid enough.

But Cas doesn't miss a beat when he answers, the word quiet against his chest. "Always."

Dean's finger turns his face up, and his small smile splits into a sloppy grin. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and the beauty of him catches the air in his throat.

There's only so much time to appreciate it.

The hand on Cas' back moves up, and fingers thread through his hair with a gentle reverence. When he guides their mouth together, Cas sinks in easily. 

He'd be a fool to feel settled, or safe, and he doesn't. Not truly.

But he can have this. And some part of him does think it could be okay.

He's never been in the business of underestimating the Winchesters, realized that mistake in the first apocalypse. So maybe it'd be a bit foolish to start now.

And if not, at least there's tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Never wrote anything like this before, have no idea what I'm doing. But all I'm saying is, Cas' emotional state should be super frayed by the end. Poor guy can't be happy without dying, saw his kid munching on hearts, had a temporary break up, and his pet project of helping Heaven has failed since they're on life support. Poor dude, he's gonna need a hug real bad


End file.
